


I Kill, and I Make Alive

by Aurelyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But he also got thrown out of Heaven and burned for 1000 years, Gen, Guys Harry's life goal is to rid the world of ignorance and egotism, Harry Potter is Salazar Slytherin, Harry Potter is the Archangel Samael, I Don't Even Know, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Samael also used to be Salazar Slytherin and Emperor Nero, Work In Progress, and thats hella loyal but also pretty brave, and the fantastic CarnivorousMuffin on Ffnet, because he wouldn't renounce his friend Lucy, better be Slytherhuffleriffinclaw, but also the literal definition of thirsting for knowledge, characters added as I go, guess which one is more likely ahahaha, heavily influenced by Batsutousai and FalconLux, in Hellfire, its official guys, or I'll abandon this before I write the Sorting, shit where do I sort this kid, so i guess, so is it Slytherin or Ravenclaw?, thats pretty ambitious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelyn/pseuds/Aurelyn
Summary: Harry Potter was not a normal boy. Harry Potter was not a normal weird boy. Harry Potter was a weird weird boy.Harry Potter was the third mortal life of the Archangel Samael. Whose first attempt at humanity was when he was born as Emperor Nero of Rome. The second one was Salazar Slytherin. Yeah. Trust him, he's got this under control, nothing is on fire. Except maybe the Christians. Huh. You'd've thought he'd've learned that making human candles was a bit Not Good.---------------------That's it guys that's the story that is literally the only outline I've got for this. Will it turn into heart wrenching drama? The unholy offspring of Lovecraftian horror and every B rated slasher film in existence? The epitome of a crackfest shitpost that every young meme aspires to be? Surrealist existentialism that will have you questioning yourself, life, the universe, and most of all what the hell did you just read? Who the fuck knows, man, cause I sure don't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not Mine. Don’t own it. Nope. Nuh-uh. 
> 
> Also, I made James’ parents Charlus and Dorea, not Fleamont and Euphemia (who are Charlus’ parents in this story) because I think Dorea being a Black fits the James-Sirius narrative a bit better, and because I think James Charlus sounds better than James Fleamont ;P 
> 
> This is a WIP, I have no more written, updates will probably be infrequent if at all.
> 
> I would like to point out that a lot of my character backstory and bloodlines are influenced by the authors FalconLux and Batsutousai, especially Batsutousai’s Gelosaþ in Écnesse for Salazar. I am not intending this to be a theft of any kind, and I would like to acknowledge their many wonderful works.

Harry James Potter was a normal boy. Well, as normal as anyone could expect to be when they lived in a cupboard under the stairs, responded to ‘Freak’ or ‘Boy’ more readily than the name given to them at birth, and were the unwilling star of their cousin’s absolutely delightful new game of ‘Harry Hunting’. 

Sure, he habitually did rather odd things like turning a teacher’s wig blue, regrowing all his hair overnight, or suddenly finding himself on top of strange rooftops during harrowing escapes after a horrible squeezing sensation (he assumed it must have been anxiety, if Dudley had caught him, oh, God, if Dudley had caught him). Oh, and he also had a habit of talking to snakes (don’t forget that one, it’s very important). 

But even though those things were odd, there were lots of other children all over England who also did those very odd things. Okay, the appearing in weird places thing took a bit too much power for most of them to manage, and, yes, fine, nobody else had regular Sunday chats with their friendly neighbourhood garden snake about how Number Six Wisteria Walk had recently gotten new residents, whose first act had been to call a rat exterminator, and wasn’t that rude, how else was a simple garden snake supposed to keep themselves fed, the roads are getting more dangerous by the day, you know, so many people in a rush that won’t consider stopping for a poor snake to cross! But that doesn’t matter, the snake thing isn’t even a part of the normal weirdness. That’s why you were told to remember it, silly. 

Because for all Harry James Potter thought he was a normal boy, and the rest of the world thought he was a normal weird buy, the truth was a different matter. 

Because the truth was when Harry was getting chased by his cousin, once, and tripped and fell into a shadow, he wished that he was back on Magnolia Crescent, so he had a better chance at escape. And then he hit the ground. 

Of Magnolia Crescent. 

But the most curious thing wasn’t that he found himself in Magnolia Crescent, oh no, we’ve been over this before, that’s normal weirdness. What was strange was that he was in a shadow. And this strange, instantaneous, non-squeezy form of location change only happened when he was touching a shadow, and he could only appear in a place if there was a shadow, and he only ever landed in a shadow. Needless to say, he quickly found an appreciation for flexibility and the ability to bend into strange shapes without every muscle in existence and then some burning for days. Normal weird is suddenly appearing in another place. Weird weird is using shadows to do it. 

Because the truth was sometimes Harry took his glasses off, or was in complete darkness, or in light so bright it burned his eyes and he thought to himself that, at least temporarily, he was blind. And then there was a moment of falling whilst he was rising when he was standing still, and then. He could see. Better than any time in his life, over incredible distances, with astounding clarity, he could see. Mostly it only lasted for seconds, sometimes minutes, and one time, one beautiful, magnificent time, it lasted for a whole glorious goddamned hour. It never lasted as long as he wanted it to, but it always lasted as long as he needed it to. 

Because the truth was Harry had a near pathological hatred of egotism, that he himself did not understand, and it was almost compulsive, the way he dragged people down to bow on the altar of humility by cramming knowledge down their throats and through their eyes and into their minds. Whether that be by direct confrontation, or leaving the information in a frequently accessible spot, or even breaking into houses or offices or computers or, on one memorable occasion, a fluffy pink personal diary with one of those generic, only-there-for-appearances locks, to leave the message in plain sight, for those that were most stubborn and disinclined to acquiesce. 

Because the truth was Harry had a bizarre and unexplainable fondness for Mars. Not the planet itself, or at least not fully, but more what it represented; war, and blood, and destruction. And he felt, not proud, maybe, but satisfied, whenever he heard of its mystical associations. When his class had been learning about the solar system, and the teacher showed a picture of the red planet, Harry’s first thought was mine (that’s me it’s mine it’s Mars mine mine mine), and there was a warm glow in his chest like what he imagined the feeling of coming home to be. He was startled by the thoughts, to say the least. He had no idea where they came from, and when the teacher named the planet the same name that he had, he tried to tell himself that he simply knew the name from somewhere else, even though it hunched like lies at the bottom of his ears. And if he had access to telescopes or astronomical data, he would have known that the brighter Mars sat in the sky the fiercer his temper burned. But he did not, and so he could not. 

Because the truth was Harry always, always, always, without fail or second guessing or unease, knew when someone was going to die. He could taste it on the air, like a fine mist of damp and dark and free, sitting deeper in his mouth the closer he was to the person. It grew heavier, as the person grew closer to death, until there was a sudden vanishing of the weight when they passed, always so sudden it left his head spinning. 

Because the truth was that Harry James Potter was not a normal boy, and he was not a normal weird boy, but he was at once something greater and more terrible than anyone could possibly dream. And so, to anyone who managed to grasp this fact, it was no surprise at all, really, when at the 59th second of the 59th minute of the 23rd hour, 30th of July, 1991, Harry James Potter; son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Violet Evans; grandson of Charlus Fleamont Potter and Dorea Ursula Black, Henry Conrad Evans and Heather Daisy Gardener; nephew of Vernon Frederick Dursley and Petunia Rose Evans; cousin of Dudley David Dursley; known as the Boy; the Freak; that Nutcase; the Burden. And also the Chosen One; the Boy-Who-Lived; the Prophesised Saviour, Vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; but who thought of himself as Just Harry, really. It was no surprise when he closed his eyes, and on the 1st second of midnight, 31st July, 1991, someone else opened them.

Because the truth was that Harry James Potter was, in actuality, Samael; Archangel of Death; the Venom, the Severity, the Blindness of God; the Seducer; the Accuser; the Destroyer; He who holds the Dominion of Killing, who Kills and Makes Alive; He who is Death of the Ego; He who is known as Mars, as Ares, as the Serpent of Eden; and who had awoken in a mortal body only twice before. First, when he was called Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, better known as Emperor Nero of Rome, nephew of Emperor Caligula of Rome. More recent, was when he was Salazar Slytherin of Ireland; son of Silvanus Slytherin of England, Pureblood and womanising arsehole, and Trista of Ireland, Muggle and all-round wonderful mother who was stoned by their neighbours when they mistook her son’s magic for hers; grandson of whichever Slytherin bastard spawned Silvanus and the younger daughter of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Naga; and uncle of Angus Slytherin, most notable for coining the term ‘Mudblood’ and siring the line that would become the Gaunt family and give birth to one Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

No, it was no surprise at all, to anyone that had sense enough to read the rather blatant signs at least, that the third awakening of Samael was as Harry James Potter. Samael was always a bit disjointed when he awoke, as having to align a millennium as a divine being who clawed their way out of Hell after an eternity of service to Heaven, plus two mortal lifespans, into the mind and soul of an eleven-year-old boy does not leave one at their best. 

So, he was understandably rather surprised when a very large man broke down the front door of the ‘on a rock in the middle of the sea’ variety of remote shack the Dursleys had fled to, threatened his uncle, sat down on the couch, dripped water absolutely everywhere, and told him he was a wizard. 

“Begging your pardon, but I’m a what now?!”


End file.
